


That's An Order

by WatsonsWarrioress



Series: Never Too Late [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Captain Watson, Clothed Sex, Dom/sub, M/M, Male Slash, Military Kink, Rough Oral Sex, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:53:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3595311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatsonsWarrioress/pseuds/WatsonsWarrioress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something John says reminds Sherlock of a desire he’d thought long forgotten.</p><p>Written for the fifth round of the come_at_once 24 hr porn challenge, from Meredydd’s marvellous prompt "I want to hear you say it." This is the fourth installment of my <i>Never Too Late</i> series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's An Order

**Author's Note:**

> Written in about five hours between dog walking, gardening, watching the burial of Richard III, and various familial interruptions. As a consequence I feel should apologise in advance.

“It wasn’t a request,” John says to Mycroft, pointing at the door.

Sherlock doesn’t hear Mycroft’s reply because the harmonics in John’s words have opened a door in his mind and he finds himself back at Baskerville, being momentarily overwhelmed by lust as John deals with the problem of Corporal Lyons. And it had been momentary, the flood of desire instantly contained by his iron self-control and the demands of the case. He’d also not looked to closely at the impulse afterwards - barely acknowledging that what he’d really wanted to do was drop to his knees and await orders of his own – partly thanks to the horrors wrought by the gas filled hollow but mostly because of the nebulous state of his and John’s relationship at that time.

Now though, as he watches John march across the floor, military bearing radiating from every inch of his frame, and slam the door behind Mycroft, he has no idea how he’s kept this particular want locked away for so long. His brain is filled with images of John in combat gear, staring down at him, speaking to him in that clipped, clear tone of command, and he’s immediately very aware of his cock twitching in the confines of his trousers.

‘You enjoyed it,’ he says as John turns back towards him.

 John shrugs, forehead wrinkling slightly. ‘Well, sort of, I suppose. I mean Mycroft can always do with being taken down a peg or two and-’

‘No. Not _that_.’ Sherlock interrupts, waving the hand that isn’t gripping his own knee. ‘I asked and you said you enjoyed it.’

John’s mouth quirks and he seems unperturbed at the apparently random direction the conversation has taken.

‘There are many things I’ve told you I enjoy.’ His eyes narrow, gaze raking across Sherlock in a manner that makes Sherlock feel very exposed. ‘You’ll have to narrow it down for me.’

Sherlock’s cheeks and neck suddenly feel hot and he knows, just by the way John’s eyes widen slightly, that they have coloured too, giving away the direction of his thoughts. He looks away from John then swallows, forcing away the sudden ridiculous surge of embarrassment that’s closing off his throat before he can manage to speak.

‘At Baskerville.’ His voice sounds wrong, even to his own ears. ‘You pulled rank on Corporal Lyons.’

There is a world of understanding in the soft ‘Oh’ John utters just before he crosses the room and comes to an abrupt stop in front of Sherlock’s chair. Yet Sherlock can’t bring himself to look up. He doesn’t know why this element of sex, out of all the things they’ve done, should affect him so strongly, but the thought that John might not want to try it, might actually find the suggestion unappealing or, worse, insulting, is making his stomach clench painfully.

‘Look at me, Sherlock.’

It’s not the words that make Sherlock obey so fast that he almost cricks his neck, it’s the way John says them; his tone a combination of steel and certainty that offer no option for disobedience and make Sherlock’s mouth turn drier than the Sahara.

‘It’s not just that I like giving orders that turns you on, is it?’

Sherlock blinks, not sure if he’s grateful at how perceptive John is when it comes to his sexual proclivities or whether he’d prefer still having the opportunity to keep some of this under wraps for the moment, despite the warmth and understanding he can see in John’s eyes.

 _Well you brought it up_ , the bit of his brain that sounds like Mycroft points out unhelpfully. _If you didn’t want him to know, you should have kept your mouth shut from the start_.

He has to swallow before he can say, ‘No, John, it’s not.’

John smiles, and shifts slightly. It’s not much, merely a tightening of muscles across his body. Yet is makes a huge difference, broadening his shoulders, lifting and straightening his torso and widening his stance a little. His arms, already by his sides, seem somehow more solid and his face has changed too; the plans and angles harder. He emanates capability and control and Sherlock doesn’t even bother to try and hide the full body shiver that quakes through him at the sight.

‘Tell me the rest then … _Soldier_.’

Sherlock gulps loudly, unable to suppress the shift of his hips as his cock hardens so rapidly it presses uncomfortably against his zip. John’s eyes dart down to Sherlock’s groin but his expression doesn’t so much as flicker. Sherlock finds his mouth opening of its own accord and realises holding back is no longer an option.

‘You said “That’s an order, Corporal” and for a minute I couldn’t think straight. The way you spoke, the way you looked … everything about you in that instant made me want to be the one in front of you, want to kneel at your feet, want to hear you say that to me.’

John looks at him steadily. ‘And you still feel the same now? Still want to follow the orders I give?’

Sherlock doesn’t hesitate. ‘Yes.’

‘Then you address me as sir.’

‘Yessir.’ Sherlock can’t get the words out fast enough. ‘Sorry sir.’

He squirms in the chair again, aware that he’s leaning toward John, his hands respectively gripping the arm of his chair and his knee hard enough to turn his knuckles white. John notices too and his mouth curls into a feral smile as he takes two steps back.

‘On your feet, soldier. Into the space by the window. Stand to attention.’

‘Sir.’ Sherlock scrambles up, all co-ordination gone, heart thumping so hard he’s sure John can hear it. If he can, John gives no sign as he walks briskly around Sherlock, hands clasped behind his back.

‘I need to have a proper look at what I’ve got to work with.’

He’s looking Sherlock up and down in a manner that forcefully reminds Sherlock of the way farmers look over livestock at an auction. It’s impersonal, demeaning, and it makes his cock throb so powerfully that even pressing his lips together can’t hold back the whimper of need. 

John raises an eyebrow, but makes no comment. Instead he halts directly in front of Sherlock, so close he is sure John can feel the heat pulsing in his groin.  

‘I can’t decide if I want you naked.’ John’s hands are suddenly running over his chest, brushing his nipples and then moving down, over the flat plain of his stomach and then parting to trace his hip bones, completely skirting his prominent erection. ‘Or whether I should keep you clothed.’

Sherlock knows when he’s being tested so he keeps silent and still, staring past John’s head and barely daring to breathe as he desperately attempts to keep a grip on what little control he has left.

‘Very good, soldier, very good.’

John’s voice is the whisper of silk over steel and Sherlock’s eyes shut involuntarily at the fresh wave of need it sends washing over him. He feels John move away and heaves in a lungful of much needed air.

‘Strip.’

Sherlock opens his eyes as he moves his shaking hands up to the top button of his shirt. John is looking at him placidly, apparently unaffected by what is happening in front of him.

‘Clothes folded and on the chair, shoes in front of it.’

Sherlock nods and then, as John opens his mouth, remembers himself. ‘Yes sir.’

It is the work of minutes to do as he is bid, despite the fact that neither hands, arms nor legs feel completely under his control. When he straightens up from placing his shoes neatly on the rug - immediately standing to attention - the last nagging doubt that John isn’t enjoying this as much as he is banished by the sight of a significant bulge distorting the front of John’s jeans. Sherlock’s own cock, deep red and glistening with pre-come as it juts out from his body, aches for want of touch.

‘A soldier puts the needs of his unit above personal satisfaction.’ John’s voice is quiet but still contains the edge of power that makes Sherlock’s knees tremble. ‘A soldier is neat, quick and efficient. A soldier obeys without question but also knows how to interpret the orders he is given to achieve the best results. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘In that case, soldier.’ John gestures to his denim covered erection. ‘Do something about this.’

 ‘Sir. Yes, sir.’

Sherlock drops to his knees, heedless of the jolt of pain from the hard floor beneath the rug, and reaches for John’s belt.

‘Close your eyes but keep going.’

Sherlock snaps them shut as he continues to unbuckle.

‘Listen to my voice, soldier, and see with your mind.’

Sherlock swallows, hardly daring to hope that John has somehow divined the rest of his fantasy but unable to see any other reason for that instruction. John proves a moment later that Sherlock was right to trust to hope.

‘My fatigues are rough under your fingers, as you unbutton them.’

Sherlock fumbles John’s flies open.

‘The wind whips at the canvas of the tent which is the only thing separating us from the rest of the men but it doesn’t matter. We are cocooned in the smell of the dust and dirt and sweat from the patrol we’ve just completed.’

Sherlock presses his nose against the cotton of John’s pants as he pulls John’s jeans down, inhaling deeply against fabric already damp with pre-come, letting the fug of sex transport him to where he wants to be. He can feel his own pre-come trickling down his cock and can’t hold back a moan of longing as he tugs the pants away.

‘That’s right, soldier.’ John’s voice is losing its sharpness, being replaces by a slight breathiness that is no less compelling. ‘Adrenaline is pounding though us, narrowing our w- _oh_.’

John groans, deep and throaty, as Sherlock frees John’s cock and guides it to his lips. He keeps his eyes tight shut as he curls his tongue over the tip, gathering the bitter-sweet secretion and savouring it as he sees the scene in his mind. John, still properly uniformed apart from his exposed erection, staring down appreciatively at the sight of Sherlock’s slender fingers wrapped round the base of his cock and the rest of if disappearing between Sherlock’s sun-chapped lips. He stifles a groan, biting down on his own lips, when Sherlock’s tongue swirls around him particularly wickedly whilst Sherlock’s free hand slides inside his pants and starts caressing his balls.

‘That’s good, soldier, but I want you to take more.’

Sherlock does as he is bid, opening his mouth wide and pushing forward, taking as much of John’s length as he can, moving his tongue against the underside of John’s cock in as much of a lick as he can manage. John’s hands fist into his hair, sending sparks of pleasure through Sherlock’s already desperate body and it’s all he can do to keep his hands on John and not reach for his own neglected erection.

‘Let’s see if you can take the rest of my cock as well you take my orders.’ The steel has returned to John’s voice but Sherlock barely registers it before John starts to move, now properly fucking Sherlock’s mouth.

‘Open your eyes,’ John gasps between pumps of his hips. ‘Look at me, soldier.’

Sherlock’s eyes snap open and he stares upwards, nostrils flaring wide as his mouth is claimed and taken, blind to everything but the lust and desire in John’s now heavily lidded eyes.

‘I’m getting close,’ John says through clenched teeth.  ‘You’re going to come when I do.’

Sherlock starts to pull his hand from John’s pants, to reach for his cock.

‘No.’ The word is like a whip crack in the otherwise silent flat. ‘Don’t touch yourself.’

Sherlock whimpers but obeys as John keeps thrusting. Sherlock knows John’s almost there, feels John’s balls lift in his hand, sees John’s eyes unfocus slightly. His own cock is so hard that it’s painful and he knows he just needs one touch, one stroke of his hand and he’d be there too. He would beg but he can’t speak, can’t do anything but stare helplessly up at John. Who smiles, eyes suddenly full of a very un-military amount of passion.

‘ _That’s an order, soldier_.’

The strength of the orgasm those four words trigger takes Sherlock entirely by surprise. He barely feels the pulse of John’s cock in his abused mouth, nor registers the thick hot spurts of come hitting the back of his throat as he swallows. He is too busy trying to stay upright as wave after wave of almost agonising pleasure races through his body and numbs his brain. His whole body is flooded by the most intense, white hot bliss he’s ever experienced and it seems to be going on forever.

He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, nor does he recall moving to the sofa, but he must have done both because when he finally manages to force his eyelids apart it is to find himself lying on it, cushion under his head and John grinning down at him as he wraps him in the blanket from the back of his chair.

‘Hello, love,’ John says, in his normal voice. ‘Enjoy yourself?’

Sherlock doesn’t bother with words, the look on his face should be more than informative. Instead he reaches up with one still shaky arm and pulls John down, pressing their lips together in a grateful kiss.


End file.
